


Redress

by Caedmon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-It: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace, F/M, Post-Episode: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>redress: <i>verb</i>  re·dress  \ri-ˈdres\:  to correct (something that is unfair or wrong), to set right or remedy, to make up for.</p><p> <i>Everything felt wrong. He needed to talk to Rose; she could make this better. Rose made everything better.</i><br/><i>The Doctor had a slinking, sneaking, very strong suspicion that Rose would be doing no such thing. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Redress

**Author's Note:**

> Just another GitF fix-it. One of the very first Doctor/Rose fics that I wrote, and I just happened to find it stashed away in a random folder in my gdocs. I cleaned it up a bit, tweaked it here and there, and then the fabulous goingtothetardis and tenroseforeverandever shaped it even more. 
> 
> I don't own Doctor Who. If I did, we wouldn't need any stupid fix-its for this stupid episode.  
> caedmonfaith.tumblr.com

Everything felt wrong. He needed to talk to Rose; she could make this better. Rose made everything better.

But the Doctor had a slinking, sneaking, very strong suspicion that Rose would be doing no such thing. 

She’d been chilly to him since Sarah Jane, then frosty towards him since France. He supposed he could understand why, but understanding didn’t make it okay. It didn’t satisfy his craving - his utter _need_ for her nearness. 

The Doctor had done this to himself, really. He’d been afraid, and, he supposed, he’d been an arse. 

Seeing Sarah Jane, realizing how she’d aged and that she’d spent her life waiting for him had frightened him. All he’d been able to see when he looked at Sarah Jane was Rose’s beloved face, laugh lines and crow’s feet marking her age, driving home the knowledge that he _wouldn’t_ age, that he would eventually lose her. The inevitable , still-imagined pain of losing her at some unknown date had been too intense for him to bear, and he’d decided to send her home, despite what he’d told her outside the chippy.

But he was a coward, and there was no way he could possibly bring himself to do that to her. Still, he was sure she needed to leave, stop traveling with him. Every minute she stayed exponentially multiplied the pain he would feel when he lost her.. So he’d taken the coward’s way out in a moment of weakness and brought Mickey aboard, hoping to drive her away. And when Madame De Pompadour had snogged him, he’d let her, then bragged about it. 

If she left on her own - and soon - it wouldn’t destroy him, he’d thought. He’d hurt, but he’d recover.

He’d been a fool. He’d been such an utter fool. 

After they returned from France, the Doctor finally abandoned all pretense that he didn’t need her nearness to maintain his best functionality. He thought more clearly when he could lift his eyes and see her. He was more clever when he could inhale and fill his lungs with air that carried her scent. His ideas came faster and were infinitely more clever when he could feel her presence in the air around him. Rose Tyler had become the key to his...well, she was the key to everything for him. He needed her, and he was selfish enough to keep her with him, as long as she’d stay. And oh, he desperately wanted her to stay now. He'd done a complete turnabout.

But after Deffry Vale and the utter disaster in France, she was giving him a healthy dose of cold shoulder. She was all but ignoring him, in fact. 

That wouldn’t do, not at all. The Doctor still needed her, no matter how badly he’d screwed up and how angry she was. He _needed_ her. And he thought, perhaps, she needed him too.

~*~O~*~

He’d waited for her in the galley after they’d flown away from the spaceship and 18th century France. He knew better than to think she’d be in the library or his workroom waiting for him after what he’d done, so he didn’t bother. His lone, slim hope was that she may be hungry or thirsty. So he’d gone to galley and waited, hoping against hope and logic.

The Doctor waited five-and-a-half hours before he surrendered to the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be able to talk to her that night. 

It was alright though, he told himself as he wandered the corridor. The Doctor, last Time Lord of Gallifrey was nothing if not persistent. He’d just forego their usual routines until he found her and talked to her. 

~*~O~*~

Mickey, bless him, had not said anything about what the Doctor had done after they left the console room, and Rose was intensely grateful. If she’d had to bear a smug _I told you so_ dance, she may have unleashed all her rage and pain on the nearest person or being - whether they deserved it or not - and Mickey would have borne the brunt of her wrath. But Mickey kept his mouth shut, giving her a quiet goodnight and quick peck on the cheek when they reached her room. She returned neither sentiment. Rose stood by the door to her room for a minute, staring at nothing, then opened it and went in. 

She didn’t become more animated upon seeing her little corner of the Tardis, but she didn’t cry, either. That was good: she’d promised herself she was done crying. _No more tears_ , she’d told herself in that hours-long stretch he was gone, and then when he’d gone back to offer Reinette a trip to the stars. He’d made his choice, and that was that. 

Rose took off her clothes without paying any attention to where she tossed them and pulled on a pair of pajamas. Automatically, she went to her vanity to take off her makeup and finish her bedtime preparations. She plunked down and the Tardis flicked on the lights around the mirror. 

Instantly, Rose’s eyes were drawn to the handful of pictures she’d put in frames or stuck in the mirror. Rose and her leather-clad Doctor, his arm around her, both beaming brightly in front of an alien landscape. Rose squealing with laughter, riding piggyback on a yelping Jack in the purple water of another planet. Rose and the Doctor - the Doctor that she’d never doubted cared about her - in one of the corny photos the waiters offer to take at restaurants: the Doctor’s eyes were partially closed. The time he had taken her to a ball, both of them looking absolutely lovely...almost like royalty. 

_Almost as beautiful as Madame de Pompadour_ , she thought bitterly. But she could never be as beautiful or charming or witty or clever, she knew. 

Rose plucked the picture of she and the Doctor at the ball off of the mirror, looking at it closely. She was smiling up at the Doctor, who had turned his brilliant smile down towards her. His arm, encased in leather, was around her waist, and she remembered being glad for that; if he hadn’t kept a grip on her, she may have floated away in her bliss. 

She’d thought she was precious to him that night at that ball… She’d thought she’d meant something to him...she’d thought…

The tears started, and Rose couldn’t stop them. She laid the picture down and stood from her vanity, wiping her eyes. She went to her bed, lying across it, curling around her pillow and sobbing brokenly. 

Rose never took her makeup off that night; her tears did the work for her.

~*~O~*~

He made French toast the next morning. When he’d made French toast in his last body, it had always drawn her like honey draws flies. He hadn’t made it for her yet in this body. He wondered now just _why_ he hadn’t, when he knew how much she loved it. 

Despite his hopes, Rose never showed up, only Mickey. 

When the Doctor looked glum about the lack of Rose in the galley, Mickey spoke up. “Buck up, mate. Rose’ll come around.”

The Doctor looked up from his tea. “Pardon?”

“Rose. She’ll come around.”

The Doctor inclined his head to acknowledge Mickey, but said nothing more. He didn’t really want to talk about this with anyone, but he _especially_ didn’t want to talk about it with Rose’s ex-boyfriend. Not for the first time, he wished he could talk to Jack. 

Mickey, however, wasn’t ready to leave it be. “She’s smartin’, and no mistake. Be thankful Jackie doesn’t know what you did, or you’d be gettin’ a smack. But Rose...ah,” Mickey sat back in his chair. “You know Rose isn’t gonna stay mad at you for long, boss. Just tell her.”

“Tell her what?” the Doctor challenged.

“That you weren’t going to leave her.”

“I wasn’t!” 

“So tell her that,” Mickey said reasonably. “She’s got it in her head that you’re dead set on gettin’ rid of her.” The Doctor stared at Mickey for a second, guilt gnawing at him a bit, then scrubbed his face with his hands. 

“Tell her you’re not, make her understand you’re not abandoning her,” Mickey encouraged him.

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling of the Tardis and blew out his breath. “Yeah,” he said, looking back at Mickey and forcing a smile. “Thanks, Mickey. I’ll do that.”

~*~O~*~

“Why’d you do it?”

The Doctor jerked his head up at the sound of her voice, the smile automatically springing to his mouth before he could stop it. He tamped it down quickly. “Rose…”

She stood in the doorway to his workroom with her hands in her pockets, leaning on one leg. Her eyes were pink, and he’d done that to her. He cursed himself bitterly for the thoughtless bastard he was. Oh, what had he done?

He lay down the compressor he’d been working on and wiped his hands on his trousers absently, taking a step towards her, repeating her name. 

Rose stepped inside the room but away from him. “Why, Doctor? Why’d you do it?”

He lowered his hands, put them in his pockets. “I had to preserve the timeline,” he said sadly. “There was no other way that I could see. I didn’t have time to think.”

“You _left_ me, Doctor. You left _us_. And it’s not like you left me at home with Mum, you stranded me on a spaceship three thousand years in the future so you could go cavortin’ with a French prossie!”

“Rose, it wasn’t like that.”

“You brought Mickey on board, even though you knew I didn’t want you to.”

“Yes.”

“You left us on a spaceship alone, with no way off, far in the future.”

“Yes, but-”

“Doctor?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes?”

“Did you or did you not tell me outside of the chippy that you wouldn’t just leave me behind like you had your other companions? Your exact words, I think, were ‘ _no, not to you._ ’.”

“Yes, they were-”

“And then you’ve spent the last few days actively trying to get rid of me, it seems.”

“Rose, it’s not-”

“Right. Well, it seems like it would be better to give you what you want. Since you don’t want me around, I’ll just save you the trouble and go. You should just take me home. Just drop me off at Mum’s in the morning if you don’t mind. I’ll need a bit to pack my things.”

She turned to leave the room, but he leapt forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him. “ _Rose_ ,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re being unfair.”

“Me? _Me!? I’m_ being unfair!?” she shrieked and wrenched her arm away. “Did you _dare_ just say that to me?”

“You won’t let me finish!”

“There’s nothing for you to say! You clearly want me to leave, so I’ll leave!” She turned to walk from the room again, and he dashed forward again to catch her by the waist and turn her. 

“Rose, I _don’t want_ you to go.” 

She started to cry, silver tracks cutting down her cheeks. “Leave me alone.”

“Please, Rose, please, hear me out…” He held onto her hips and pulled them to his unconsciously, oblivious to her stiff posture and clenched fists, choosing to ignore the way she didn’t relax into him the way she always did. He was just trying to keep her close somehow. Some way. Anyway he could.

“There’s nothing you can say. You don’t want me. You’ve made that very clear.” Rose’s hands came up to cover her face and she cried, letting noisy sobs escape into the hands, hands that did little to muffle the sounds of her sadness. 

The Doctor released her and brought his arms up around her, threading one hand through her hair. He pulled her close, holding her solidly against him as she cried, letting her sob out her anger, frustration and sadness against him. 

After a few minutes he led her the few steps to the cushions they stargazed from, easing her down, keeping her close, her cries still coming hard against his chest. She cursed him and accused him, pleaded with him and demanded from him, and through it all he held her close, stroking her hair, agreeing that he had been an arse, offering to do anything and everything could think of to restore her faith in him, apologizing profusely. 

Her sobs subsided, leaving wet snuffles in their wake, and the Doctor began to quietly and oh, so gently state his case. “Rose, I would have gotten back to you. Somehow, someway. I’d have come back to you. You know that I never would have abandoned you forever.”

“It’s not _that_ ,” she said, snuffling. “It’s that you don’t want me.”

“But I _do_ Rose.”

“So why’d you bring Mickey on board? And snog Reinette? And _then_ you offered her a trip on the Tardis! Why, Doctor?”

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “I don’t know.”

Rose looked up at him with watery eyes. “You do. You’re lying, I can always tell. Tell me why.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to leave, Rose. I want you here, and that’s what’s important.”

“But you did want me to leave." It was a statement, not a question.

“For a brief, mad moment, I did, yes.”

Fat, rolling tears slid free of her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I thought it would be easier if you left me now rather than later,” he muttered, before his voice turned pleading. “I thought maybe if you got back together with Mickey or something, you’d leave me. I thought, perhaps it wouldn’t destroy me as much if you left now as it would if you did years from now. Because if you stay with me, Rose, I’m never going to want you to leave.”

“I never _want_ to leave.” 

The Doctor felt as if heavy stone weights had been released from him, leaving him lighter. He smiled at her then, a small, hopeful little smile, and she continued. “But you chose Reinette. You wanted her.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I preserved the timeline. Rose,” he tilted her chin up to look at him. “I would rather have one of you than a hundred Reinette Poissons. You are _precious_ to me, the most precious thing. She’s a crush. A celebrity crush, like the posters on your wall at your mum’s of that bloke in some band.” Another tear slid down her cheek and the Doctor wiped it away with one thumb. “Please don’t cry, Rose. Please believe me. I don’t want her, alright?”

“How long were you there?”

_68 minutes, twelve seconds._ “An hour or so. Not long.” 

“Did you… _dance_?” 

The Doctor quirked his lip at her, as if she should know better. “A waltz and a reel before I came back and they had you strapped to the table. No other… _dancing_. When I went through the mirror, it was stop the bots, then get back to you.” 

“Did you snog her again?” 

“No, and I never really snogged her to begin with. She snogged me. There’s a distinction. I let her, true, but I didn’t snog her.” 

Rose snorted, which sounded more like a sob after the extensive crying. “So it was just ...dancing?” 

The Doctor stood up and held out a hand. “May I demonstrate?” 

Rose looked at his hand, unsure, and he wiggled his fingers. After a moment, she took it and he pulled her to her feet. The Tardis started an old, slow, love song without his prompting as the Doctor pulled her flush against him, wrapping one arm snug around her back and tucked their other arms between them, tangling their fingers. He swayed her gently back and forth, resting his cheek against her hair, inhaling her scent. 

_Home,_ he thought. _This is my home. Rose Tyler is my home_. 

They stayed like that for a while, Rose’s shoulders still shaking a little every now and then. He still heard the occasional, quiet sniffle against his chest. 

“Rose?” She didn’t answer, but he went on anyway. “I didn’t dance with her like this, Rose. I didn’t hold her this way. This is just for you. Only you. Always you.” She nodded against his chest without looking up, and he waited a minute before he told her the rest. “Rose Tyler, I wouldn’t trade a thousand years with Madame de Pompadour for even one minute with you.” 

Rose’s shoulders shook again, and he heard the raw sound of her sobs, felt her bending under the weight of her emotions. He pushed her away from him slightly and cupped her chin, raising her face to his. “Look at me, Rose.” She shook her head, her eyes closed. “Rose, please.” 

Rose opened her eyes to look at him, and his hearts dissolved into dust. She looked broken, distraught, and he’d done that to her. He’d hurt her in this way. He knew that Rose didn’t like to cry in front of him and why she tried not to, and he could tell that she was fighting her tears even as they now spilled from her eyes. He’d bet his sonic that she’d sworn off crying over him - that was his Rose. Determined and strong. Now, though…now she’d lost the battle with her sadness and he despised himself for making her feel this way. The Doctor was desperate to let her know that she was the most important person in the universe to him. 

He slid his hand from her chin to cup her cheek, knowing that in this moment, he was risking everything. Their friendship, the potential of a deeper relationship with her. All of it. Everything he’d worked for could blow away right in this moment. He was gambling with his future happiness. 

She’d asked to go home, and he should honor her wishes. He _should_. 

But if he was honest with himself, he’d do anything - anything - to get her to stay, including breaking every rule he ever made for himself, including making himself as vulnerable as he’d ever been in his life. Including tossing his pride into the airlock and never seeing it again. 

The Doctor lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. The touch, although feather-light, set fire to his blood and he he was lost. He knew in that moment that he’d never be able to live without her, that he needed her and could never let her go. 

“Please don’t go,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “I need you here, with me.” 

The Doctor felt a tear slide down his thumb on her cheek and wiped it away. Rose sniffed again then raised her head to look at him. “Do you? Truly?” 

He gave her a soft smile. “I do. Please stay.” 

“Please don’t hurt me like this again.” 

“I’m so sorry, Rose.” 

She nodded and looked up at him. “Okay,” she whispered. 

“You’ll stay?” 

“I’ll stay.” 

The Doctor kissed her forehead. “Thank you.” He danced with her a while longer, just relishing the feel of her in his arms, then when the song stopped he stepped back to look at her again, running his hands down her shoulders, then her arms, until his fingers laced with hers. “We never had our time together last night, like usual. Do you want to-” 

“No,” she cut him off before he could finish his question. “I’m knackered. I think I’ll…” 

“Of course.” The Doctor let her hands go and shoved his own in his pockets, gesturing towards the door with his head. “You go on. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Rose turned towards the door and took a couple of steps before she dashed back to him, kissed his cheek, and left the room without looking back. 

The Doctor stared at the empty doorway and fingered his cheek, the place she’d pressed her lips to his skin. He had mucked up in a royal fashion (no pun intended, and what a _horribly_ ill-timed pun), but she was going to stay with him, had listened to his desperate pleas. She hadn’t run when he’d come as close to baring his soul as he had ever dared, when he’d all but begged her to stay. She hadn’t fled when he’d kissed her, and had kissed him in turn. 

Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything. Maybe she’d stay. There was hope for him yet. 


End file.
